TABLE OF CONTENTS

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THE STORY OF EDITH

by

W. H. Woodin

(Copyright W. H. Woodin 1964)

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INTRODUCTION

SCENE: Headquarters of a plantation four miles west of Lexa, in Phillips County, Arkansas.

TIME: Sometime between the years 1875 and 1880.

A partial cast of characters as they come on stage is, first, the Captain, J. F. Woodin. The Captain was my paternal grandfather and he never handled a steamboat in his life. The title was given to him by the hands on the Plantation. The old darkies had various names for the boss - de Capt'n, de Cunnel, Ole Boss, Ole Massa. Then there were Uncle Pap and Uncle Henry. In the colloquialism of plantation dialect, the old fellows were known as "bone polishers." In addition to their regular duties around the place, any odd job or errand the Captain wanted done, one of the old fellows would go and do it. Next was Aunt Sue, the cook. Aunt Sue, I regret to say, died when I was about two years old and from the many things my mother has told me about her I will always consider it one of the minor tragedies of my life that I cannot remember her. Then there were a couple of month hands whose names I never knew. They only played a minor role in this affair.

Next was the Doctor. The Doctor was old Dr. Vineyard, one of the old family physician type that has practically disappeared from the medical scene of the present day. Dr. Vineyard was a college trained doctor, something all doctors back in those days were not. There was not much law on the subject. He was a very intelligent man and probably knew as much medical science as any doctor in his day, and it can be said he took & personal interest in his patients and did the best he could with what he had to do it with. Other characters will be introduced as they come on stage.

Up until say 1910 or 1912 the life of a southern plantation Owner was the life of a feudal lord, almost as abolute as if he had lived in the fourteenth century. In those days there was no other way the situation could have been handled. Plantation labor consisted almost entirely of the ex-slaves freed by the Civil war. In those years they were almost as primitive as they were when the pious Yankee slave-trader brought them over from the Conge and sold them to the wicked southern planter. True enough, in the years that had gone by they had embraced the general outline of the Christian faith. I say general outline because just how much of it they really understood and believed

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in was very doubtful, but definitely not very much. He still retained his superstitions, his belief in ghosts, spooks, “hants, conger bags, bound and sot", all of the old mumbo jumbo of African voodoo. His church was used as a center for his social and other activities, and if you read the papers you know that it still is. The worship of God has always been a minor piece of business.

Stealing from the white folks was an accomplishment to brag about, and they stole from each other for amusement and to keep in practice.

On the other side of his ledger sheet were a number of entries that make him a fairly well balanced person. One was his outstanding loyalty and devotion to his white folks and determination to obey orders regardless of how much skin and feathers it took. As a nurse for the sick they were gentle, kind and sympathetic, and they had a way of handling babies and young children that was little short of magic. On top of this he spoke a dialect us thick as a bowl of gumbo. J learned it in early childhood, in fact when I was learning to talk, and for several years thereafter I sometimes had trouble remembering which was plantation talk and which was school teacher talk. You know, even yet I am sometimes tempted to think the plantation version was the more practical of the two. It was certainly well rounded and streamlined - as streamlined as French. It could be very expressive, and was much easier on the tongue and the vocal cords. Correct English is e barbaric speech and I am still having trouble with it.

One thing the southern plantation owner has never been given much credit for was the fact that he, almost without exception, took care of his worn-out field hands in the comparatively rare eases when there were no children or grandchildren to take care of the old folks. At first they were given the job as hostler taking care of the work stock, the Colonel's saddle horse, milking the cows, feeding the pigs; and then as the infirmities of age tightened upon them, they were given lighter duties - feeding the chickens, tending to the setting hens and the baby chicks, bringing in the eggs, bringing in stove wood and water for the cook; and in their last days they were fed and nursed until they died.

To give you an idea of the mentality and the devotion to duty of some of the old timers, an amising incident took place the first Christmas my mother spent on the plantation after she and my father were married. Of course I did not see this happen, but I have heard it told so many times and as well as I remember most of the characters involved, I can visualize it as though I had had a ringside seat. It seems this Christmas was quite a gala event. My mother's family and some other relatives were invited to spend the week between Christmas and New Year's with them; some friends were invited in for Christmas dinner, and

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as the three old darkies would have expressed it, "Dey was a heap of stirring around up at de big house." Remember, in those days there were no packaged pre-cooked frozen concentrated foods. When the cook prepared a meal she started with everything in the raw and the rough, including the turkey gobbler with his feathers still on that morning. Breakfast was early and had to be - about six o'clock, to enable Aunt Sue, even with the help of two younger women that were called in to help her that day, to get Christmas dinner on the table by one o'clock.

As soon as the Captain had finished breakfast he got up from the table and went to the kitchen to see if Aunt Sue had everything she needed. It seems she did. The wood box beside the big wood-burning range was piled full of good dry stove wood, with some extra piled up on the floor. On the kitchen table - about four feet wide by twelve feet long – were four buckets of water fresh from the well. Aunt Sue had one of her helpers getting the dishes back from the dining room, and the other one had started washing them. The big cast iron teakettle and a couple of extra pans of water were simmering on the stove. In the cistern out in the yard buckets of milk, cream, and butter were suspended on ropes, the plantation man's refrigerator. The situation was well in hand.

The Captain walked on through the back door of the kitchen out into the yard. As he did, he met Uncle Pap who had just come up from the lot with two buckets of milk. The Captain said, "Uncle Pap, I "speck you had better catch that turkey. Aunt Sue and her girls are going to be pretty busy." "Yes, sah, Cp’n, I sho’ cotch dat turkey right now." Uncle Pap took his milk into the kitchen and went lumbering off towards the coop where the turkey was being held for safekeeping. The Captain walked around the corner of the house and disappeared. About this time my mother, not knowing of the Captain's trip into the kitchen, went out for the same reason, and seeing that everything was all right went out through the back door into the back yard just in time to meet Uncle Pap coming from the coop and headed for the wood shed where there was a chopping block and axe.

"Oh, Uncle Pap, I ‘spect you'd better pick that turkey. Aunt Sue and her girls will have about all they can do." "Yes, ma'am, young Missus, sho‘ will pick de turkey." My mother went back through the kitchen and into the front part of the house. A few seconds later Aunt Sue, not knowing of the orders given Uncle Pap, went to the back door and looked out just as Uncle Pap laid the turkey's neck on the block and picked up the axe. "Hol’ on dar, Uncle Pap, doan' you kill dat turkey. I'se not ready for him yit." Uncle Pap laid the axe down slowly, stood there staring at the turkey for quite a while, and then did exactly what he had been told to do.

Some twenty minutes later my mother went to the kitchen again to get some eggs to make eggnog, and there on the kitchen

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table, very much alive and as naked as the eggshell he was hatched from, stood an enormous turkey gobbler. My mother let out a soprano shrisk that brought everyone on the place on the run. There was considerable commotion for a few minutes. As soon as poor old Uncle Pap could get a few words in edgeways he said: "Now Missus, jus’ a minute Missus, let me 'splain dis. You see de Capt'n comes out and tells me to cotch de turkey. So I cotched de turkey. Den you comes by and tells me to pick de turkey. Den when you wag gone, Aunt Sue she poke her haid outen de do' and says ‘Doan’ you kill dat turkey yit.' Now Missus, what was I to do? I jus’ ‘beys all dem orders what wug give me." Faithful old Uncle Pap was right. He jus' ‘beyed all dem orders what wiz give him. The unfortunate turkey was beheaded immediately.

At the age when I first began forming permanent memories, there were two two-story houses in a yard of about three acres. The house that my parents and I lived in was new, being only about a month older than I was, and it had not collected the various and sundry assortment of odds and ends that make an old house interesting. The Captain's house, being some thirty years old, and the Captain being quite a collector, was loaded to the guards, to use an old steamboat expression. There is not time to take you through the entire house, so I will only describe the one room in which much of the action takes place in our little drama. It was referred to as the library. All of the wall space not occupied by doors and windows was lined with book shelves. The Captain was quite a reader. On occasion it also served as office, court room, dental and medical clinic. The cold weather heat was provided by a wood burning stove known as a Wilson burner. The big wood box behind the stove was kept full by Uncle Pap and Uncle Henry. The library was always warm and comfortable. There were three windows, one facing east, one west, and one north. Lying on the floor in front of the east window were the three largest books I have ever seen. They were three bound volumes of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, giving the history of the Spanish-American War as it took place day by day, as well as other news of that time. I remember lifting the cover on the top volume and of looking over a few pages, but the pictures were very dull and uninteresting to a very small boy. I lost interest in the big books.

Before the north window was a table about thirty inches square, on which was a printed advertising blotter with a picture of a Gar Scott steam traction engine. I do not think I had a very clear idea at that time of what steam traction engines were good for, but it was a most fascinating picture printed in red and black on a white background, and I often climed up on a straight back chair before the table and looked at the picture for three or four minutes, which is quite a long time for a small boy in the wiggly phase. There would sometimes be a typewriter on this table, but being the only child on the place I seldom had much trouble getting the typewriter removed.

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so I could look at the picture.

About a year later a telephone was added to this table. It was a private line connecting the headquarters of five plantations. It was quite a convenience. The men could transact their business affairs, and in the afternoon, with the housework disposed of, the ladies, sometimes all five of them, could get on the line together and post each other on the news of the day. "Has Mary gotten over the measles yet? Oh, I have a new recipe for chocolate cake which is just delicious. Charles cut his foot yesterday, but it is not serious. I met Mrs. Garner in town yesterday. She said it was rumored in Marvell that Marguerite and Joe are engaged. Have you heard anything about it?” Pretty much the same line of chatter that still goes on. It must be a lot of fun. But on the serious side, if someone was in pain you could call a doctor instead of having to put Uncle Henry on a saddle horse with a note.

An amusing incident took place at one of these plantation homes the first time the phone rang. The lady of the house, in another room when it started ringing, listened a moment, ran into her bedroom as fast as she could, powdered her nose, brushed her hair, saw that her dress was all straight and neat, and then ran out into the hall to enjoy her first telephone conversation. Now don't ever, never, "no way, no how", under any circumstances, ask me who that was. She was a wonderful woman, a Christian and a lady. At present there are children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, and for all I know maybe some great-great-grand-children, running around this part of the country. They are friends of mine and I am simply not going to tell.

What was really the center of interest in the library was the center table, a rather plain oak table about five feet square. Directly above it hung a gas burning chandelier. The gas came from a machine in a small house out in the yard. It required very little-attention and only used about two barrels of gasoline a year. Gasoline in those days was about five cents a gallon. It was not good for much of anything.

Too many years have gone by for me to give a complete manifest of the cargo on the table. I remember there was a glass tobacco jar with a silver top, which held about s gallon and was usually about half-full of a peculiar brand of tobacco that the Captain ordered from Pennsylvania. The smoke from it was Pleasant, quite different from the awful stench of the sycamore sawdust present day pipe smokers seem obliged to burn. Then there was a small brass clock, an aneroid barometer, a tenpenny nail, and a claw hammer. The barometer gave the Captain the fright of his life about two o'clock one morning. He had finished reading a book and it was one of his customs to turn back to the flyleaf and write his comments about the book and its author. In later years I read quite a few of those comments. Some were quite caustic. He closed the book and laid it on the

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table beside him. As he did, he happened to look at the barometer, which was in his line of sight. The needle, which had been rather high, started dropping a half-inch at a jump. That meant just one thing - a tornado; and the tornado was not coming. It had arrived. Flashlights had not been in vented in those days. He grabbed his hat, yelled to his pet bird dog asleep behind the stove, and the two of them started down the stairs. He stumbled over the old dog on the first step and the two of them rolled and tumbled over each other clear to the bottom like a couple of comic strip characters. On the dining room floor they untangled themselves, found the door going onto the back porch by the flashes of lightning coming in, and ran out into the yard. Sure enough, there it was about 500 feet straight overhead, and in the flashes of lightning which came from the awful looking cloud he found himself looking almost straight up the inside of the funnel and could see large trees and pieces of houses gyrating round and round. Very few people have ever looked up the inside of a tornado funnel and lived to tell about it. Fortunately the Captain was a full grown adult at the time, otherwise he might have finished life as a midget. I don’t think he slept much the rest of the night.

The tenpenny nail and the claw hammer were not kept there for emergency repairs on either house or furniture - they were the Captain's dental equipment. Now and then one of the hands on the plantation would come up to the headquarters. "Qle Boss, I got a misery in the toof. Couldn't sleep none las' night. Ain't you got some medicine to give me for the misery in my toof?" "Yes, I have. Come on up to the library. I've got something good for it." Upstairs he would light the gas chandelier, even in the daytime, to get all the light he could, seat the victim - I mean patient - in a straightback chair closely facing the table. In doing this he quietly palmed the tenpenny nail in his left hand, opened the patient's mouth, which usually provided plenty of working space, and with his coat sleeve over the victim's eyes he reached for the hammer with his right hand. "Is this the tooth?" "Oh, no, m-me-". "Oh, it must be this one." "Umph, humph." "Hold still, now, let me get the medicine in it." Pop !! Sometimes patient and chair went over backwards onto the old Wilson burner, but as I remember the old stove there were no dents in the top of it, so it must have been made of better stuff than the heads that bounced off it. The anesthetic was administered after the extraction - an ordinary drinking glass with about three fingers of Cream of Kentucky. I always believed that quite a few teeth lost their happy home long before they began to give serious trouble. That is the cast and the scene to the little drama I am going to tell you. And this is the story of Edith as the Captain told it to me.

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THE STORY OF EDITH

It was a drab day in November, one of those days when the sky resembles an inverted bowl of lead, with the light coming from no particular direction, a slight breeze out of the north, the temperature just above freezing, and a heavy mist slowly drifting down which kept the air so saturated it seemed as if I could grab a handful and squeeze the water out of it. It was not a day for romance. Tragedy, however, it not so particular. During such weather very little work is done in the fields on a plantation. The Negroes by nature do not like the cold, and the white folks are about the same. I had spent most of the morning with my two month hands making some changes and repairs inside the barn; and having about finished the work had decided to send the hands home for the day and spend the afternoon in the carpenter shop making a table which was needed in the kitchen, when Uncle Henry walked up and said that a covered wagon had been standing down at the big gate for about an hour. It sounded like trouble, so, taking Uncle Henry with me, I walked down to investigate. I found a covered wagon, sometimes called a prairie schooner, to which was hitched two yoke of oxen. The wagon, though badly spattered with mud, seemed to be still sturdy. The cover, in spite of a few patches, was still weatherproof, but the four animals had reached the end of the road. Unless something was done for them they would stand there until they died.

There was no sign or sound of life from inside the wagon so I called "Hello." The answer sounded as if someone had tried to speak but had choked on the first word. I climbed up on the hounds, pulled the flap aside and looked in on the most complete scene of human misery I hope I never see again - a rather young woman in a worn and faded dress and the remains of what had once been an expensive shawl around her head and shoulders, but which in its present condition was pitifully inadequate for the weather. In her arms she held a shapeless bundle of rags from which came the whimpering of a baby making its discomfort known in the only way a baby can. On the other side of the wagon lay a man wrapped in all the bedding they had and obviously unconscious. But the expression in the woman's eyes! I had seen it before in the eyes of a wounded deer when the hunter closed in for the kill and in the eyes of a felon as he listened to the court sentence him to execution. In bearing pain and nerve strain a woman can surpass a man most any day in the week, but this one had reached the limit of her endurance. She made another effort to speak, but broke into uncontrolled sobbing. I wasted no time asking foolish questions but grabbed the whip I found in the front of the wagon, closed the flap, and told Uncle Henry what we had to do. It required considerable exertion and the merciless use of the whip to get the oxen in motion again, but once started they pulled the wagon up to the house without stopping. On the way up through the lawn I was much puzzled about the background of the couple. In spite of the brief glimpse I had of them, they did not belong in a covered

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wagon. In those day there were still quite a few covered wagons traveling across the country, usually headed west. The people that drove them were pretty much of a kind, born to a rough life and generally able to take care of themselves. This couple did not come from that strata of human race, but there they were.

We got the woman and babe in the house first and turned them over to the capable and sympathetic hands of Aunt Sue. We got the man upstairs and put him to bed in a warm room. He was running a high fever, was totally unconscious, and his breathing was getting rather labored. I had seen men in that condition before and it frightened me. I dispatched Uncle Henry for the doctor on my favorite saddle horse, and with orders not to spare the whip. I sent one of the month hands on another horse with a note to the Parson and his wife, for in those days, even with the best medical science could do, double pneumonia was seldom less than a death warrant, and I was going to need help.

The doctor was out on another call but Uncle Henry found him and got him to the house within three hours. It only required a few minutes’ examination to confirm my diagnosis, and as soon as the doctor and I left the room he told me there was not much to hope for, as the patient seemed to be completely exhausted and both lungs were badly involved. However, he did not suffer for the lack of careful nursing. I had had considerable experience; so had the Parson and his wife, as well as Uncle Henry. The baby, a handsome little boy of about eight months, was cooing contentedly under the care of Aunt Sue. It really doesn't require very much to make a baby happy under the canopy of oblivion with which nature covers us in infancy. The wife, as soon as she was made physically comfortable and given a hot meal, regained her composure and stayed at the bedside until we practically forced her to drink a hot toddy and the Parson's wife put her to bed.

The next morning I sent for one of my neighbors, who was a good cabinet maker, and put him to work in the carpenter shop, but not on the table. Under the handicap of weather and transportation certain events sometimes had to be anticipated, and I was pretty sure about what we were going to need.

We did the best we could but the third day we buried him down at Central Church, and the Parson's wife came home with the widow to stay with her until we could determine what her future was to be. I was still much puzzled about the past history of the couple. Although the man never spoke, it was quite obvious, even in his physical condition, that he came from a family of culture and refinement. The wife, apparently in her late twenties, was definitely pretty in spite of her ordeal, and her manner of speech and deportment left no doubt of a cultured background. But what was the most amazing was the strength of character and stamina

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with which she faced a desperate situation. I wondered what the rest of the story was going to be.

So, I was not surprised when she came down to breakfast the next morning, greeted me with a smile and ate a substantial meal. She certainly needed it. after we had finished she asked if I had a little time to spare. So the three of us went back up to the library where it was always warm and comfortable.

"I know you are wondering where I am from and how I happened to get stranded at your gate. My father is a wealthy merchant in St. Louis and my family consisted of Father, Mother, Brother Jim and myself. I was raised in the lap of luxury and never denied anything. When I finished high school I was sent to college and I graduated with honors. When I came home after the last year, life was a beautiful dream. I was the center of our circle of friends and there were a number of young men who were most attentive. Of course, one soon appeared who seemed to be the one I was looking for. He was Father's chief clerk; he was often in our house. Father was very fond of him and had told us that if all went well he was going to take him into the business next year. George finally proposed and I was only too glad to say ‘yes.' When I told Father of our engagement that night, I received the shock of my life. “Nol" he shouted, as he pounded the table, ‘and, moreover. the moment you become that man's wife you become a stranger in your own home.' I was stunned. It was the first time in my life I had ever been denied anything, and, being a chip off the old block, I made up my mind I was going to marry George let come what might.

"With the help of a friend we made our plans. I slipped away from home one morning; we were married and caught the train for Indian Territory within the hour. George had a friend there, and, having a few thousand in cash, had made a deal to go into the real estate business with him. It was a small village named Tulsa located in a fertile part of the country and showed promise of becoming a prosperous town. The business was quite successful and at the end of a year the firm had $50,000 in the bank. We were supremely happy, we were successful, and planned an immediate trip to St. Louis to try for a reconciliation with Father. A few days after this George came home in the middle of the morning white as a ghost and hardly able to speak. When he had gotten control of himself he told me his partner had absconded with all of the firm's funds and we were left with a few hundred dollars in our own account.

"Rather than try to start over again in the Territory, we decided to try our hand at raising cotton in the Mississippi Delta country. We had heard much about fortunes made in a few years and it sounded like a good opportunity. We located at a small steamboat landing named Rosedale. The name was a misnomer, but the fertility of the soil was fantastic. Cotton grew as high as my head. In spite of our inexperience we were very successful the

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first two years; the yield and the price were both good. We bought more work stock, more plow tools, and rented more land. in one more year we would be able to buy land and have a home of our own. When the crop was oaid by that summer it gave every promise of a bountiful yield. In one night the army worm came and in three days we had nothing but bare stalks.

"It seemed useless to try to stay on in the Delta; there was no other crop to raise, nor anything else we could do. I bought that wagon and the oxen with the gold watch Mother gave me when I graduated, and we started driving north up the Delta country. At a place named Clarksdale George talked to the editor of the local paper, who had a brother up in the Ozark mountains of Arkansas. A few years before he had started an apple orchard and was already getting some yield from it. The country was high and healthy and free from the pests that had wrecked the Delta. So we crossed the river at Helena and started northwest. The day was cold and rainy and George got wet getting the wagon on and off the boat and caught a bad cold. Then he began running a fever and had to go to bed. That last day I had to help him yoke the oxen and hitch them to the wagon, and soon after I started driving I noticed that he was unconscious. There was nothing to do but keep driving until I could come to a town or some place where there was a doctor. It must have been God's hand that stopped the oxen at your gate.

"I must do something. With my education I should be able to teach in a girls' school, or I will take a position as governess in a family of means if they will have me with a small baby."

I asked the young mother quite a few questions about her father and his business, then got up, put on my hat and coat, told her to consider herself at home and try to relax, that I had an idea and I was going over to Lexa to see if I could make it work.

A few years before a railroad had been built through Lexa giving direct rail service between Helena and St. Louis. Also at that time the Western Union had made a deal with the railroads by which a telegram could be sent from any station that had an operator, which Lexa did. and I had a message to send - quite a long one, which I could not trust even to Uncle Henry. So once again I was not surprised when, late in the afternoon of the second day, I saw a buggy and two horses driving up through the lawn. I recognized the rig as belonging to a friend from Lexa, and when he came closer I needed no introduction to the passenger - the family resemblance was remarkable. Charley pulled up at the yard fence. The young man made a flying leap over the front wheel, came bouncing over the stiles and ran to meet me. He was not in the mood for the niceties of formal introduction. I merely motioned to him and said: "Come on. She's upstairs." I led him across the porch to the dining room, over to the stairway. "Top of the stairs, door on the left." He started up,

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three at a jump, and I went back out in the yard to talk to my friend Charley, while the month hands got the young man's baggage into the house. There are some scenes that just don't need to be witnessed. About half an hour later the Parson's wife came to the door and called me and we went upstairs. It was the first time I had seen anyone smile from happiness in nearly two weeks. "Come in, sir," said the little widow. "I want Brother Jim to tell you what happened in St. Louis." I took the top off the old Wilson burner, stirred the coals with a poker, dropped in a couple of chunks of hickory wood, replaced the top, opened the draft, and with the old stove purring like a contented cat I pulled up a chair.

"To start at the beginning," began Brother Jim, "about a month after Sis married and left St. Louis Father realized he had made an awful mistake and started me out looking for them. Compared to what I've been through that needle in the haystack business was child's play. I have traveled over twenty-five states and three territories. Several times I thought I had picked up the trail, but it either proved false or just faded out. I had just returned from Arizona and was spending a couple of weeks in the office getting posted up on the trend of the business, and had planned a long trip through Canada, thinking they might have gone that way.

"The irony of the whole thing is that about four months ago I took passage on a steamboat at New Orleans and rode it up to Helena, where I got off and caught the St. Louis, Iron Mountain and Southern into St. Louis to save time. I remember the boat landing at a place named Rosedale. There was nothing to see from the river except a road going up through the willows. We lay there for about an hour unloading freight. Wanting some exercise, I asked the Captain if there was time for me to go ashore. He said there was time enough but advised me not to, that there was nothing to see, and the place had a rough reputation. So I sat on the boiler deck and chatted with a couple of my fellow passengers. Sis tells me that I was within a mile of her at the time. I never expected to find them in a place like that. Knowing their background I had searched the cities and larger towns, and, of course, when I went to St. Louis on the train I went through your local station of Lexa. I remember seeing the name of the little station when we stopped. From force of habit I looked out of one side of the coach and then the other, and when went back to the book I was reading. I certainly never expected to see it again.

"Your message was delivered about 8:30 in the morning the day after you sent it. I had just gone down the street a short distance on a business errand, and had just gotten inside the door when one of the young clerks from our office came tearing in behind me, bareheaded and in his shirt sleeves and greatly excited. He told me that Father had opened a telegram and had gone completely insane, and was raging around the office screaming for me. In

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the course of our business we often receive 15 or 20 telegrams a day, and they cause no excitement. I could think of only one message that could cause Father to act like that, and I dared to hope. I dispensed with my dignity and outran the young man back to the office. Sure enough, when I reached Father's office he was raging around like a lion in a circus act. There were two of the older clerks in the office trying to get control of him. When he saw me he thrust a piece of yellow paper in my face and tried to tell me something, but was under such emotional strain he could not pronounce his words. I was afraid he was about to have a stroke. Another clerk had gone for a doctor whose office was across the street. He came in right behind me and while I was reading the message, he took one look at Father and started loading his hypodermic. I told him to wait a minute; I did not want Father drugged or unconscious just then. I wanted him able to think. I knocked the top off the water cooler, grabbed a chunk of ice, crushed it on the floor with a paperweight, wrapped it in my handkerchief, and applied the improvised icepack to the back of Father's neck, while the two clerks and the doctor manhandled him into his office chair. The effect was almost immediate, and when Father began to complain about ice water trickling down his spine and wetting his shirt and underwear, I felt much relieved.

"I still had one more problem - Mother. With the help of the two older clerks I got Father, the doctor and myself loaded into a cab and started driving home, with Father berating the driver for his horses being so slow. Fortunately, the cab driver was an old friend who had driven the family around St. Louis for years - an old Irishman. He and my father loved to engage in a verbal joust and the old fellow was perfectly able to take care of himself in such contests. For years I had enjoyed their little tilts, but this time I was net in the mood for entertainment. When we did get home, I felt a little ashamed of myself. I should have known Mother would take it quietly. She was the only one who had never given up hope. She cried a little when I read the message. She had been very fond of George, but her first thought was to pack some baggage which it seemed sis was going to need. Father jumped up and was going upstairs to help her when for the second time within the hour he found himself being manhandled. The doctor and I grabbed him, one on each arm, marched him into the parlor, where we plopped him down in his favorite chair, and the doctor waved the hypodermic under his nose to keep him quiet.

"Having the situation pretty well under control for the first time, I took the message cut of my pocket and the three of us went over it one word at a time to be sure we had not missed anything. I wish to assure you that you did not miss anything. It was a masterpiece of English composition and gave Father a bit of discipline Grandfather should have given him in childhood out in the wood shed.

“As much as I had been traveling I was as familiar with train

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schedules as any railroad man in town. The next train going south did not leave for two hours and I had plenty of time to get ready. Father insisted on driving to the station with me, an hour ahead of time, to be sure I did not get left and to get me on the right coach. Old Patrick could be depended upon to get him safely home again; and I gave both of them strict orders that Father was not to go to the office again that day.

Father is not as difficult to work for as I may have led you to think. He is very considerate and reasonable with his employees, and the two old clerks I spoke of helped him to start the business when he was just out of school. It is the only job they have ever had and we have a long waiting list of young men who would like to get in our office. Some of them are still in school.

"And, Sis, for goodness’ sake, go see what Mother put in that steamer trunk. I have seen you better dressed." The girl glanced at the old calico she was still wearing, blushed, rolled her eyes at the Parson's wife, and the two of them left the room.

I have a most pleasant conversation with Brother Jim, who was a most likeable chap, interested in everything, and asked me many questions about working a plantation.

It was about half an hour before the ladies returned. Well, it is really amazing what clothes can do for a-woman. Even the Parson's wife, dressed in some silk and satin with lots of ribbons and bows on it, after the fashion of the day, was almost pretty. And the little widow - oh, well. I would have had them stay awhile, but after all the place could never have any pleasant memories for either of them, and besides there were two new grandparents back in St. Louis, extremely impatient.

In those days there was no dining car service for those who traveled by rail. The railroads or a catering company placed restaurants at strategic locations and schedules were arranged to give passengers twenty minutes to get off, order something, and try to eat it. Try is the correct word. The food was usually abominable, and experienced passengers usually packed some kind of a lunch to stave off hunger or something worse until they got to their journey's end.

When I had ridden the place that morning I had taken my dogs and gun along and had come back with a dozen and a half nice fat quail. Aunt Sue had been taught in childhood to broil them over a hickory fire in the fireplace. They make a tasty. dish. When she cooked supper that night she baked a loaf of pound cake and at breakfast next morning an extra pan of biscuits. They. would be good even when a day old; some Jersey butter, a jar of raspberry jam from the pantry - it would see them on their way.

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Next morning Uncle Henry and I drove them over to Lexa and saw them aboard the northbound train. They would be in St- Louis the next afternoon. I got back to the place just in time for dinner. It was the first meal I had eaten alone in nearly two weeks and it seemed rather lonesome, something I thought I was immune to. when I had finished I started upstairs to look over some mail I had picked up while at Lexa. I got to the top of the stairs and reached for the door going into the library, stopped for a moment, turned and opened the door on the other side of the landing, the door into the east spare bedroom. It was the room the two women had occupied. The room had been nicely straightened up, except that handing on one side of the dresser was the faded old calico dress and on the other side the shreds of the Paisley shawl. Then I noticed a note on the pincushion, and around the pin that held it was a gold wedding ring. I picked up the note and read it.

And that is the story of Edith as the Captain told it to me.

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HISTORY OF THE FIRST PRESBYTERIAN
CHURCH OF HELENA, ARKANSAS

by

John C. King, Jr.

It was in December, 1848, only 15 years after Helena became an incorporated tow, that John Hancock was sent to Helena as a missionary from Madison, Indiana, from the Western Board of Domestic Missions of the Presbyterian Church. (It might be of interest to know that Helena's population in 1840 was 250 - this was just 8 years later).

On May 19, 1849, the Church was founded with twelve members, ten of them women. They were John N. Sellers, Samuel C. Murphy, Mrs. Minerva Rightor, Mrs. Elizabeth A. Cowley, Mrs. Cora H. Badham, Miss Martha Black, Miss Eliza Black, Mrs. E. Hornor, Mrs. M. J. Sellers, Mrs. Clarenda Wood, Mrs. Elenor Perkins, Mrs. Prudence Ringo. Other men, however, were soon affiliated with the new church, and in June, 1849, a committee was appointed to build the church's first home. Serving on this committee were General John Preston, Jr., W. K. Ringo, Samuel Martin, and Edwin Rice.

A little more than a year later, in November, 1850, the building on the northeast corner of Ohio and Market, facing south, was dedicated. (This site today is the home of Mr. and Mrs. Carroll Rawls). Mr. Hancock became the first pastor. At this time there were many beautiful old Southern homes on the far side of Water Street, which was the first street east of Ohio - the Mississippi River levee is now where Water Street was.

Mr. Hancock served the Helena Church until 1852. During the next eight years two ministers served as pastors: they were the Reverent Thomas R. Welch and the Reverend C. W. Price.

During the War Between the States the church has no regular pastor for seven years, but was served for a short interval by the Rev. S. Park of Memphis Presbytery. The church was confiscated by the Union forces for use as a house of mercy, a federal hospital. All the furniture, however, was destroyed, with the exception of a table which had been given to the church by Mrs. Anna Nash (great grandmother of Mr. Nash Lindsey, Jr.) This table was taken to the home of Dr. George McAlpine, ruling elder, and was kept there until the hostilities ceased and the church was refurnished and reequipped. The old communion service, comprised of silver pitcher, two goblets and baptismal bowl, was buried for safekeeping during the War and lost for a while. They were later found and have been resilvered and are still used or on display in the church today.

In 1868 the Rev. Thomas Ward White arrived as minister of the church and with him came his sister, one of the church's staunchest women - Miss Hattie white of Richmond, Virginia. Mr. White and Miss White, who later became Mrs. James Graham, were

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the great aunt and uncle of Mrs. Douglas Heslep. Miss Hattie, as she was affectionately known, was a school teacher, and always took an active, constructive interest in all church activities. It was she who placed a claim with the government for the damage done to the church during the war and after years of writing and pleading received $1900.00 in restitution. Mr. White served as pastor from 1868 until 1872.

It might not be out of order to pause here and note that at this time there was a great influx of people to the west. Many of the fine old early families of Richmond and other cities of Virginia had Lost everything they had when the cities were burned and sacked by the Union Forces and had nothing left, so they headed west and south to find new homes. Helena and Arkansas profited by the addition of these families.

From 1872 to 1876 the church was without a regular pastor, but in January of that year the Rev. John Gaston of Memphis, one of the founders of the church, promised to serve until a regular minister could be secured, and he did until his very sudden death due to a heart attack in 1878.

Services in the church were held irregularly for several years because there was no minister. It might be of interest that 1878 was the year of the disastrous yellow fever epidemic in Helena when many of the town died. This was time of shifting population in the City of Helena due to yellow fever, floods, and economic conditions.

The following account from the Minutes of the Session of the Church in 1886 reflect interesting information: "A meeting of the Session was held to elect an Elder to represent the Helena church at the next meeting of the Presbytery, but no elder felt he could leave Helena because of high water threat. The water came up to the foot of the hill on Perry Street and Franklin and half way up the side yard of the house on the corner of Porter and Franklin. (This house on the southwest corner of these streets is the former Wood home and the maiden home of Mrs. Thad Kelly, Sr.) Another note from the other church records reports there used to be an old mill stone in the Wood yard that marked the exact spot of the high water; the children called it their “wishing stone."

During these years of trial five faithful ladies kept the church doors open: Mrs. Mary Lindsey (mother of Nash Lindsey, Sr.), Mrs. Alice Moore (the first Mrs. S. C. Moore), Mrs. Jennie Quarles, Mrs. Clara White (mother of Wellford White), and Mrs. Hattie White Graham.

In 1889 the Rev. A. E. Grover accepted the call as pastor with a salary of $1200 per annum, and the congregation individually signed the contract as there were no elders. Mr. Grover served until 1893.

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On April 5, 1895, the church was destroyed by fire. Mr. J. W. Clopton, father of the late Mrs. John I. McRee, Sr. (grandfather of Mrs. Winston Mosby and Miss Bessie McRee) recorded this tragedy in his diary as follows: "The small residence immediately back of the Presbyterian Church took fire about 3:00 o'clock in the morning and set fire to the church. Both buildings burned down. The old church steeple with the old weather cock representing a harp, which had dodged the breezes 45 years, toppled over and sunk in flames. The church building was insured for $1,000 and the organ for $200." (It is of interest to note that the only piece of furniture Saved from the fire was the same table saved during the Civil War.)

The five Ladies who had been. responsible for saving the church during other troubled times surveyed the ruins and said, “We must have a Church." The lot on the southeast corner of Porter and Franklin (present site of M-C Drug) was purchased and paid for by Mrs. Alice Moore and her missionary band of ladies known as "The Gleamers" with money made from dinners, bazaars, ice cream suppers, and oyster suppers.

The Jewish Synagogue offered the use of their building rent-free as a temporary meeting place. In the meantime the Rev. S. L. Rieves had accepted the call as pastor and a building committee appointed composed of: G. S. Ellis, Cam Ferguson, J. R. Graham, S. C. Moore, and A. W. Sutherland. This committee contracted for and arranged for the building of a new church. First services in the new church were held April, 1896 – just a year after the fire.

Mr. Rieves served the Helena church two years and was then succeeded by the Rev. L. H. Richardson, who was followed by the Rev. W. H. Harrison and the Rev. W. E. Furr.

In 1906 the Rev. Fred R. Graves of Courtland, Alabama, the father of Mrs. George Cromwell, came to the Helena church as minister, where he served eight years. It was during Mr. Graves’ ministry that the church had its first manse, the house at 1102 Porter Street (the present home of Mr. James A. Hudson). The church showed much progress during this time and had a membership of 150 in 1913. In 1912, under Mr. Graves’ leadership, a Sunday School was started in West Helena, which resulted in the establishment of a church in 1914. Mr. Ned Hornor and Mr. Sydney Hornor gave the property at the corner of 8th Street and Cleburne Avenue in West Helena as the site for the church. This church continued until 1917 when the members decided to disband because street cars had been put into operation between Helena and West Helena and the West Helena Presbyterians could then attend the Helena church.

In 1914 the Rev. William H. Irvine became pastor and during his ministry the congregation grew to a membership of 282.

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(Note: Population of Helena in 1920 had grown to 9,112). In March, 1917, the congregation was approached by the Christian Church to sell the church building at the corner of Franklin and Porter Streets, as the Presbyterian congregation had outgrown its building. The Presbyterians then bought the George Willey home and sold their smaller building to the Christian Church.

The Willey home was on the southeast corner of Porter and Columbia Streets (the present site of the church in 1964). The Willey home was used as the church from 1917 until 1923. In 1923 a temporary frame building was erected on the alley side of the lot and the new church building was started. The building committee was composed of W. H. Howe, J. S. M. Wharton, Hamilton McRae, J. F. Epes, S. C. Moore, Dade Moore, C. C. Curl, Wellford White, R. M. Foster, Jr., George Davidson, Shade Wooten, E. D. Rhodes, T. Walker Lewis, M. Neely and James A. Hudson. E. T. Walker was the contractor. Back in 1919 the stable of the Willey home was converted into a manse and the manse at 1102 Porter was sold to James A. Hudson. The first services in the new church building at Porter and Columbia Streets were held April 12, 1925. Mr. Irvine retired from the ministry at end of 1925 and returned to Indianola, Mississippi, to live.

The Rev. C. E. Newton succeeded Mr. Irvine in January, 1926, and served until 1931. He was succeeded by the Rev. S. F. Bryant. During Mr. Bryant's ministry the pipe organ was purchased, and much of the money to pay for the organ was made by the Women's Auxiliary serving lunch to Rotary Club from 1932 until 1939. The Rev. E. G. Tompkinson served as minister from 1937 to 1941.

The late '20s and the '30s were depression years for the whole country, and they were dark and troubled days for the churches. In 1940 the building of the First Presbyterian Church of Helena was lost due to foreclosure of mortgage. The house at 603 Perry Street was rented and used as a church and manse. However, in late 1941 enough money was raised to regain possession of the property on the corner of Columbia and Porter Streets, and by 1942 all the note was paid.

The Rev. W. B. Oglesby, Jr., came as minister of the church in 1942, and he served five years - until 1947. His work with the young people of the whole town, his work with servicemen at Aero Tech, with the Prison Camp located near Helena during World War II, and his helping organize a chapter of Alcoholics Anonymous in Phillips County, meant much to the community. During Mr. Oglesby's tenure the church secured its first Director of Religious Education, Miss Lassie Youmans. Mr. Oglesby left Helena to accept a call in Little Rock.

The Rev. Tom B. Anderson came to Helena in October, 1947, as pastor of the Helene church. It was during his service that the church observed its Centennial Celebration in 1948. Miss

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Nancy Huey (the present Mrs. Thad Kelly, Jr.) was employed as Director of Religions Education under Mr. Anderson and during this time, also, the new manse at 1004 Porter Street was built. The Cleburne Avenue Presbyterian Church was organized in West Helena under his leadership.

In 1951 Mr. Anderson moved to Texas and Dr. W. C. Neill succeeded him. Dr. Neill served for seven years in Helena, and was active in Boy Scout work in both town and county. During his ministry leadership schools were held jointly with Episcopal and Methodist Churches of Helena, and with West Helena and Marianna Presbyterian churches. In the church, elevator was installed, indebtedness on new manse cleared, air conditioning installed, new piano for the sanctuary purchased, and the Vocational Guidance Program (which has been beneficial to youths of all faiths in this community) was started.

In October, 1958, the Rev. Harold Jackson came as pastor and he still serves this congregation today. During his ministry a new educational building has been built, the original building completely renovated and redecorated as well as partially re-equipped, and a Day Kindergarten begun. Mr. Jackson has worked actively with the youth of the community and numerous civic activities - especially with the Teen Club. He has been much in demand as a speaker, book reviewer, and worked with all phases of education within the community.

****

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FIRST SOLDIER'S DISCHARGE RECORDED IN PHILLIPS COUNTY

Edited by Dorothy James

In Deed Record Book "A", page 185, appears the first soldier's discharge to be recorded in Phillips County. Austin Kendrick served as Clerk and Ex-Officio Recorder of Phillips County, 1829-1830. Early marriage records show a marriage to Martha Porter. However, probate records reveal that Austin Kendrick, Sr., died sometime in 1832, leaving Parthenia Kendrick, his widow, and two daughters, Polly Scott, wife of Wane Scott, and Louvinia Possins, wife of Greenup Possins.¹

Spelling is exactly as appears in the record book. but a few punctuation marks have been added – punctuation seemed to mean little to these early scribes.

"To All Whom it May Concern, Know ye, that Austin Kindrik, a corporal of Capt. Wyly Martins company of the regiment of riflemen, who was enlisted the 26th day of August, One Thousand Eight Hundred and Fourteen, to serve the full term of five years, is hereby honorably discharged from the Army of the United States. Having faithfully served the war department order his discharge without claim to retained bounty or land. Said Austin Kindrick was born in Union County, South Carolina, is about thirty years of age, six feet one and an half inches high, dark complexin, black eyes, black hair, and by occupation when enlisted a saddler. Given at Southland 28th day of November, 1815.

"I certify that I have paid the within named Austin Kindrick all arrearages due him from the United States this 12th day of February, 1816, at St. Louis.

"I certify that the foregoing is a true and correct copy of an original discharge filed in my office for record the 20th day of September, A. D. 1821.

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¹ Probate Record Book "2", pages 112, 113, official records of Phillips County, Arkansas

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A BRIEF HISTORY OF MAPLE HILL CEMETERY

by

Dale P. Kirkman

The following newspaper article was printed in the February, 1964, Quarterly, but since it supplies some of the earliest information concerning present day Maple Hill Cemetery, it is included in this article.

From the "Clarion," May 12, 1869:

“The Cemetery. The ground recently selected for this purpose has been surveyed and found to contain seventy-two acres. The contract for a good fence has been given to Anthony Opp, Esquire, who is now engaged getting out the material, and will soon have a handsome fence around the whole ground, and on the inside will be an evergreen fence, which will come on about the time the wood one decays. The services of seven Germen have been engaged and are now at work, laying off roads, terraces, etc., under the instruction of Leon Archias, Esquire, who is famous for his taste. We may now look for a permanent and beautiful resting place for our dead, the want of which has long been a disgrace to our city."

The Goodspeed History makes a mention of Graveyard Hill (now known as Reservoir Hill, southwest of York and College Streets, Helena) and of the early days of Evergreen Cemetery.

"Directly west of Helena is the old graveyard on one of the hills partially ‘surrounding the city. The land was owed by individuals, but by consent the people buried their dead there from the settlement of Helena until the close of the Civil War... Monuments and headstones were knocked to pieces by the cannonading. After the close of the war, the timber having been removed, the ground began to wash into gullies, and soon began to disturb the sleeping dead. Then the remains of some persons who had friends and relatives living sufficiently near were disinterred and buried elsewhere, but the remains of all others were left to their fate."¹

(An interesting note: the late Curtis Jeffries, as a boy, playing on Graveyard Hill, found his grandfather's headstone and took it home.)

Many remains were moved from the old cemetery on Graveyard Hill that was torn up during the Battle of Helena. Remains were removed to the new cemetery from other places, too, including the yards of private homes in Helena.² There are approximately 75 graves in Maple Hill Cemetery today with headstones giving a death date prior to 1865. The oldest death date found so far on a headstone is that of John H- Clary, who died in 1827.³

To quote again from the Goodspeed History: “Evergreen Cemetery, owned by a company of that name, lies at a proper distance north of the city, but it is only partially fenced and is

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not kept in a neat and proper condition, the stock at large being allowed to overrun it. Next to this is the Catholic Cemetery, and still farther is the Hebrew Cemetery."

The Articles of Incorporation of Evergreen Cemetery are to be found in the Deed Record Books, dated March 31, 1870. Records of that same year show that Henry P. and Eliza Coolidge, Henry C. and Bettie Rightor, and Albertis and Fannie Wilkins sold land containing 73 acres to the Evergreen Cemetery Company for $13,500. The capital stock of the Company was fixed at $25,000, represented by 1000 shares of $25.00 each. 33⁴ shares, which should be deemed as paid up to the extent of $13.57 per share were the property of H. P. Coolidge, 166 shares each were the property of H. C. Rightor and Albertis Wilkins. and 33⁴ shares were to belong to Leon Archias Superintendent of the cemetery, to be taken on a credit of five years.

These named stockholders were to be the Board of Directors of the Cemetery Association, but any lotholder would be eligible for the Board of Directors, if elected by the stockholders, according to shares held.

It was decided by the City Council of Helena in December, 1870, that the paupers of the city would be buried in Evergreen Cemetery at the expense of the city. It is thought that many of them were yellow fever victims and that they were buried in one particular spot in the cemetery. This spot may or may not be the “Potter’s Field" referred to in the City Council notes of July, 1879

At the time that 73 acres were sold to start Evergreen Cemetery, approximately half of that area was to be used by the colored citizens of the county. As an early description has it, that part of the Evergreen Cemetery Company grounds lying east of the fence was for white people, and west of the fence was for colored people.

A history of Evergreen and Maple Hill Cemetery would not be complete without giving some background of the Confederate Cemetery. In May, 1869, the Phillips County Memorial Association was organized at Phillips Academy, about 14 miles west of Helena, with a branch at Helena. Its object was to care for the Confederate dead and to decorate their graves at regular times. The Association wanted to move the remains of soldiers from Graveyard Hill and to put up new headstones. The first set of officers was: President - Mrs. John T. Jones, of Lexa; Vice President - Mrs. Mary Lambert, of Helena.

The Memorial Association began to reinterr the soldiers killed at the Battie of Helena in the Confederate Cemetery. As time went on, other old soldiers living in Phillips County were deemed eligible for burial in the Confederate Cemetery. Supposedly, there are about 300 Confederate soldiers buried on Confederate

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Hill, some known, some unknown. Actually, it was not until 1892 that the Memorial Association was incorporated, at which time Evergreen Cemetery sold an acre of land for $1.00 to the Association, that acre officially to be called the Confederate Cemetery.

One of the first things the Memorial Association did was to send Judge L. H. Mangum and Dr. H. M. Grant to Columbia, Tennessee, to bring to the remains of General Pat Cleburne for reinterrment.⁵ Cleburne was killed at the Battle of Franklin in November, 1864.

Judge Mangum and Dr. Grant arrived back in Helena on April 29, 1870, on the steamer Geo. W. Cheek, and from there the remains of General Cleburne were taken to St. John's Episcopal Church. On the day of re-burial , all business houses in Helena were closed. The remains were escorted to the cemetery led by the Helena Cornet Band, with drums playing a march for the dead. After the Band came the members of the Water Witch Fire Company, followed by the hearse. Walking by the sides of the hearse were 15 Masons, dressed in full regalia and acting as pallbearers, followed by the other members of the Masonic Order. Then came the chief marshal of the day, with ladies of the Memorial Association behind him in carriages, bearing flowers and wreaths. The Association members were followed by a group of young men On horseback, and behind them came citizens on foot. The whole procession was over a mile long.

In May, 1891, the Memorial Association dedicated a marble column in Confederate Cemetery to the memory of Cleburne. General George Gordon of Memphis came as the guest Speaker, accompanied by the Chickasaw Guards. In May, 1892, the Association dedicated a granite shaft, called the Confederate Monument, with a life-sized statue of a Confederate soldier on top. This was a short distance from the first shaft. Old soldiers came from Arkansas Mississippi, and Tennessee for the unveiling of the monument. The ladies of the Association had put ads in leading journals throughout the South, asking for money for the monument. Donations came from everywhere and included almost everything, plows, road carts, quilts, pigs, sheep, an oil portrait, a bale of cotton.

When the Memorial Association was incorporated in 1892, the officers at that time were: Mrs. J. M. Hanks, Mrs. Simon Seelig, Mrs. P. Haskell, Mrs. W. E. Moore, Mrs. J. C. Barlow. The membership list totaled close to 100 men and women.

The records show that in December, 1898, the Evergreen Cemetery Company sold to Maple Hill Cemetery Company for $1.00 all that part of Evergreen lying east of the fence, or 37.1 acres. This was done to settle some differences, in litigation, of a case pending in Chancery Court wherein R. C. Moore, et al, were plaintiffs and Evergreen Cemetery Company, defendant. From this time on the name of Maple Hill Cemetery has been used.

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In April, 1899, Evergreen Cemetery deeded to Magnolia Cemetery (colored) that part of Evergreen Cemetery Company grounds, fenced and unfenced, lying west of the fence dividing white from colored, for $400.00, a total of 35.9 acres.

When Evergreen Cemetery became Maple Hill Cemetery, the Maple Hill Cemetery Association took the place of the Phillips County Memorial Association. Judge J. M. Hanks was elected president of the new Association, and other trustees were: John J. Hornor, A. W. Sutherland, S. S. Faulkner, F. T. Horn, R. C. Burke, D. T. Hargraves, James C. Rembert, R. C. Moore, James A. Tappan, C. Wooten.

Maple Hill Cemetery was incorporated in May, 1901, with its rules stating that it shall never be operated for gain or profit. On that same day, Magnolia Cemetery was also incorporated.

In 1907, a Women's Auxiliary to the Association was formed, at the instigation of Mrs. E. D. Pillow. Officers of the Auxiliary were: President - Mrs. Pillow; Vice-President - Mrs. Hanks; Secretary - Mrs. Frank Garner; Treasurer - Mrs. J. J. Hornor. The Auxiliary helped greatly with improvements to the cemetery. It has city water piped to the cemetery, for up to that time the cemetery had been watered from an old board well near the gate. The Auxiliary had drives and walks laid off and graveled.

The Directors each gave $150 towards building a caretaker's cottage. An iron fence was put across the front of the cemetery and a wire fence around the whole cemetery. Mrs. E. D. Pillow gave the Pillow Memorial Gates, made of wrought iron set in granite, and dedicated in May, 1914.

The chapel was erected to the memory of Richard C. Burke. it was given and dedicated in 1919 by Mrs. R. C. Burke and Ben H. Lucy. Its colored windows are all memorials, and it provides a crypt and a white marble altar. Mrs. Burke was for many years president of the Women's Auxiliary to the Cemetery Association.

The Auxiliary placed a bird-bath in the Hanks lot beside the Hindman Drive as a memorial to Mrs. Hanks. The Stone steps leading from the upper terrace to the hill above are known as the Howard-McKenzie Memorial Steps and were given by Mrs. Belle McKenzie in 1932.

Hindman Drive, leading from the entrance gates to the Hindman lot, was given by Colonel Biscoe Hindman, T. C. Hindman, and Mrs. Blanche Hindman Cox, and was dedicated in October, 1930. The name, Hindman, was imbedded in bronze letters in the drive. There is also a monument on the Hindman lot to General T. C. Hindman. General Hindman’s remains were moved from Confederate Hill to this lot.

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¹ The Goodspeed Publishing Co. (ed.), Biographical And Historical Memoirs of Eastern Arkansas (Chicago, Nashville and St. Louis, 1890) p. 747. Hereinafter referred to as Goodspeed.

² For instance, Judge J. M. Hanks, in his diaries, recorded that in October, 1572, they removed all of the dead buried in the family cemetery on the hill just north of his ancestral home and reburied them in the Hanks lot in Maple Hill. His mother, Frances Sanford Hanks, who died in 1834, his grandmother; Amelia Hornor Sanford (sister of Wm. B. R. Hornor), who died in 1831, and his son, Charles Adams Hanks, who died in 1863, were reburied in one coffin. His father, Fleetwood Hanks, his brother, John F. Hanks, his aunt, Nancy Hanks DeMar, and his son, Fleetwood Hanks, were also moved. His cousin, Francis Hanks Thompson, wife of Arthur Thompson, who evidently died in childbirth, was also moved at this time and reburied with her baby in the Hanks lot.

³ Following is complete list of those headstones found in Maple Hill giving a death date prior to 1865. All of these would have been exhumed and reinterred.

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⁴ Goodspeed

⁵ Judge J. M. Hanks, in his diaries reports attending a meeting of the "Cleburne Association" to discuss return of Cleburne's body to Helena as early as 1866.

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The BEAR, A REMINISCENCE

by

G W. Yancey
(from Jan. 8, 1922, issue of "Helena World")

"My father operated the Lucius Polk place. Adjoining this was the General Gideon Pillow (known as Defeated Cane) place, operated by Capt. John D. Mitchell and Capt. Wilbur Johnson, sons-in-law of General Pillow. Capt. Johnson and his wife moved to Atlanta, Ga. Capt. Mitchell reared his a family on this place and later moved to Helena.

Capt. Johnson and I jointly owned a pack of bear hounds. We trailed a very large bear several times, but could not find where he crossed Holden's Bayou. We finally cut out a trail along the bank of the bayou and found the foot-log used by the bear in crossing.

When Captains Johnson and Mitchell and I were framing up the next morning to go after the bear, Miss Gertrude Pillow, General Pillow's youngest daughter, who was visiting her sisters at the time, requested permission to go with us on the bear hunt. Accordingly, Capt. Mitchell went with her, horseback, around by Holden's bridge and placed her on the bear stand at the end of the foot-log.

Capt. Mitchell left Miss Pillow at the stand and undertook to work his way to where the bear was held at bay by the dogs, thinking to get a shot, but the bear moved down to the foot-log and crossed over to where Miss Pillow was standing. She shot it in the body just before it reached the end of the log, and the bear fell and rolled down to the edge of the water.

While the wounded animal was trying to scramble up the bank Miss Pillow reloaded her rifle and shot it in the head. When we arrived we found a dead bear, a pack of hounds, and Miss Pillow petting the dogs - no more excited than a regular old bear hunter!"

*****

The above incident probably occurred in the 1870s, and the "Holden's bridge" referred to is across a small bayou east of Old Town Lake, an old landmark still in existence. It is hoped that in some future issue of the Quarterly we will have a story about the bear hunts in the southern part of the County.

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ADVERTISEMENTS IN APRIL, 1870

from
Helena "Weekly Clarion"

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*****

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SOUTHLAND COLLEGE

by

Dale P. Kirkman

The state of the country was such in 1864, particularly in the South, that the terms "orphan" and "pauper" had become common. Deaths, displaced families, and other of war's side effects had created a situation here at Helena that the Federal officers-in-charge felt was of some moment. Southland College for Negroes came into being as a result of the effort to take care of some 80 orphaned children.

The Religious Society of Friends, or Quakers, had long had a strong objection to slavery, and their belief in the worth of the individual and the brotherhood of man had led to the establishment of many schools and colleges.¹ Their efforts to lighten the condition of Negroes extended back to the 17th century. So the problems created by the Civil War were problems that the Friends already had looked upon as part of their mission in life.

At the urgent request of General N. B. Buford, Post Commandant at Helena, an Orphan Asylum for Negro children was established here in April, 1864, under the direction of Calvin and Alida Clark, with Susan Horney and Martha Ann Macy as teachers.

This Asylum and School remained in Helena for two or three years, but it is not known exactly where it was located. Part of it may have been in the Episcopal Church, for the latter was used as a Negro school. The deed records of Phillips County show that Lot 598, Old Helena, on the northwest corner of the intersection of Poplar and Miller Streets, was bought as a site for a Negro school by Major Henry Sweeney, Superintendent and Provost Marshal of Refugees, Freedmen and Abandoned Lands. However, the date of this purchase, 1867, and the missionary association connected with the purchase, would make one believe that this was not the original Southland school.

Mr. and Mrs. Clark were members of the Friends Society and were from Wayne County, Indiana. He taught school in the wintertime and farmed in the summer. Some of his farming interests were near Richmond, Indiana. Mr. Clark was a recorded minister of the Friends.² Their son-in-law, Captain Theodore F. Wright, was stationed with the Federal Army at Helena, and, undoubtedly, this was the Clarks’ initial contact with this area. Arthur Wright Jones, of Granville, Ohio, great-grandson of Mr. and Mrs. Clark, states that April 14, 1864, was the beginning date of the original (Southland) School and Asylum at Helena.

In 1866, Colonel Bentzoni of the Federal Army, who was then in command at Helena, was ordered to restore the buildings to their rightful owners that had been used for the Orphan Asylum. The Colonel suggested the purchase of some land and the erection by the regiment of suitable buildings. He drew a sketch of the buildings that he thought would be necessary, and this was used

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as a blueprint.

Accordingly, in March, 1866, 30 acres of the W ½ SE ¼ of Section 16, Township 1 South, Range 4 East, lying about nine miles northwest of Helena, and not far from Lexa, were purchased for $900.00 with funds contributed by the officers and soldiers of the 56th United States Colored Infantry Regiment. This land was then deeded to the Indiana Yearly Meeting of Friends, being conveyed in trust "that all lands and appurtenances and all the use, rents and profits thereof shall be devoted to the relief, care and education of destitute and orphan colored children as an asylum or home for such children ….." That same year, another 50 acres adjoining the original purchase were bought by the Yearly Meeting for $1500.00 and added to the grounds. The Indiana Yearly Meeting of Friends acquired other tracts of land, bringing the total amount to about 167 acres, but the original 80 acres formed the main part of the Southland campus.

In 1869, the Normal course was added to the curriculum, and, in 1872, Southland was organized as a college. actually, it was not until 1876 that the school was named "Southland College," and was authorized to issue diplomas for a completed course of study.

Anna M. P. Strong, educator, after whom Strong High School in Marianna is named, volunteered the following information about the first graduates of Southland. She went through school at Southland herself, teaching. briefly there and at Trenton, teaching some years at Tuskegee Institute, and teaching for many years at Marianne.

The first three graduates of Southland graduated in 1876, and were Anna Strong's father, Chandler Paschal, Emma Lancaster (who later moved to Portland, Oregon), and Jerry Cross. They were orphans and were reared by the founders of the school. Chandler Paschal became a Quaker minister and at one time had a church at Marvell. He also was left in charge of the Clark-Wright holdings after Mr. and Mrs. Clark and Captain Wright left Helena for good. (Mr. and Mrs. Clark headed Southland until 1886). These holdings consisted of a farm of some 1700 acres, brickyard, sawmill, cotton gin, grist mill and grocery store.

In 1878, Benjamin Coates, of Philadelphia, gave $500 as the beginning of an endowment fund for the College. Arthur W. Jones states that, in 1881, George Sturge of England gave $25,000 to establish a fund "for the training of teachers of the freedmen of the Southern States of the United States of America through the agency of the Southland College, Arkansas." Mr. Sturge suggested that "5% of the fund be used for books and clothing for needy intending teachers," and the same amount to add a technical class "to teach carpentry, blacksmith's work, shoemaking or tailoring." Many contributions to Southland were

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from England, and several English people visited the College. Contributions came in from Helena, too. In 1883, $109.50 was given towards a new dining room at Southland by the Gordon family, Charles Ro Coolidge, and others.

Mr. Jones tells us that there was a great emphasis on temperance at the school, and that the first "band of hope" was started in 1865, with temperance tracts being distributed. Also, he states that the old reports stress the number of teachers graduated at Southland, and that by 1881, 160 teachers had gone out from the College and 150 of them were teaching. By 1885, Southland College had 286 students, and the Southland Monthly Meeting had 390 members.

In 1887 and in 1900, fire destroyed part of the school, but new buildings were erected to take the place of those that had burned. Sometime after this, the name of the school was changed to Southland Institute, as it was thought that that name was more appropriate for the type of work offered by the school. In 1917, the Indiana Yearly Meeting of Friends transferred their control of Southland to a larger body, the Five Years Meeting of Friends, with the thought that a larger group would be able to obtain more funds to develop and run the school.

Walter Jones, retired postman of West Helena, is a graduate of Southland and gave the following information. Pupils came from Arkansas, Mississippi, and Louisiana and Tennessee to Southland, and tuition was $1.00 a month for "outside" pupils and $10 a month for "inside" pupils. A lot of the students became Quakers, helped by a big revival that was held each term at the school. (Anna Strong said that she became a Quaker, converted during one of the revivals). There were no other Quaker churches or meetings in the area of Lexa, except those meetings held in the chapel at Southland, during the time that Walter Jones was in school.

On November 11, 1923, the “Helena World" carried this advertisement:

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with the Friends. Other churches had built schools in the state, and, of course, state supported schools were numerous, so that whereas at one time Southland was one of few it now became one of many. It was thought that dissatisfaction among the stockholders in Indiana contributed to the end of the Friends' connection with Southland, and the removal elsewhere of a longtime president and his wife did not help the future of the school.

The school was run briefly by the Masons and then by the AME Zions, finally closing. The deed records of Phillips County show that, in 1929, the Board of Home Missions of the Five Years Meeting of Friends in America conveyed to the Sovereign Grand Lodge of Arkansas, Free and Accepted Masons, 167 acres and personal property for the sum of $11,000. In 1935, the Free and Accepted Masons of Arkansas conveyed the land "known as the Southland College property," to Walters Institute of the Arkansas Conference of the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church for a sum of $7,000. All of the 167 has since been sold except for 20 acres which is still owned by Walters Institute.

***

¹ Delight Ansley, "The Religious Society of Friends," Encyclopedia Americana (1954), XII, 106-108.

² The Goodspeed Publishing Co. (ED.) "Biographical and Historical memoirs of Eastern Arkansas" (Chicago, Nashville and St. Louis, 1890), p. 756-757

Many thanks to Mrs. Floyd Curtis, past President of the Phillips County Historical Society, for writing to Arthur Wright Jones for any information that he might have about Southland, and thanks to Mr. Jones for the information he sent. Also, thanks go to Walter Jones of West Helena and to Anna M. P. Strong of Marianna, who was contacted by Walter Jones. The November 11, 1923, edition of the "Helena World," which was a commemorative issue of the "World's" 50th Anniversary, had a good history of Southland College in it. Information from the deed records of Phillips County about Southland was furnished by Dorothy James.

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NEWS, NOTES AND COMMENTS

We promised a report on our proposal to reprint issue No. 1 of the Quarterly. Response was negligible - we received much less than 10 cards and requests - and, therefore, will not reprint the issue.

St. Francis County has recently organized their own historical society - Mrs. Carroll Cannon of Forrest City is their President - and we wish to welcome them and express our good wishes and hope for their great success. Our history from May 1, 1820, when Phillips County was formed, to October 13, 1827, when St. Francis County was formed of land formerly in Philips County, is their history. St. Francis County is one of those counties in Arkansas which had the misfortune of losing all its official records prior to the Civil war. Thus our records covering the above dates are important to them as well as to us. We sincerely hope they will soon have a publication, and look forward to exchanging issues with them.

We are beginning a new year, and we hope in this coming year to see a renewed interest in our history and in our Society. If you want our Society to grow and to continue, won’t you please try to attend all of our monthly meetings? And perhaps bring someone to them who might join, or who is interested.

This year we have a pet project - we want our Society to acquire a portable microfilm reader and some microfilm. Do you know that the Library of Congress and the National Archives, as well as various History Commissions and some commercial firms, have microfilmed copies, for sale at reasonable prices, of census records, historical books and papers, old newspapers and magazines, etc.? The Arkansas History Commission has microfilmed copies of Helena newspapers from 1836 (Constitutional Journal Helena Spy, and Southern Shield) to 1902 (Helena weekly world). We would like to have some of these rolls of microfilm available for research. Also, we should have some plan to gather up our own historical papers and microfilm them. Be thinking about this. If you have a project of your own, why not suggest it at our next meeting. No historical society thrives without participation by all of its members.

Mystery to be solved: the map of "New Helena", surveyed and platted in 1836, shows a hill on the northwest corner of Louisiana Street and St. Louis Street which is named on the plat "Monument Hill". There is a similar hill shown on the plat of the Ann A. Porter Addition in the northern part of Helena. Why? After the first frost we have been promised an expedition.

See you at our next meeting - and we hope you're there with your enthusiasm showing!

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